I.
"No."
She hadn't expected to be shot down so easily; had come prepared with a list of arguments, and counterarguments to his counterarguments.
She's planned this all out perfectly in her head. If only he would play along with what she wants.
He never has before.
"You did it before," Rachel affirms calmly, quieting her inner voice. "I don't know what motivated you," she states casually, "I don't even want to know how Shelby got you to do it, but it looks like you could use the money. I'll match whatever Starbucks is paying you for 10 hours a week."
"That was different. God, Rachel, that was high school!"
This is back to the territory that Rachel was expecting. "How is it different?" She prompts him, "Different time, different place, but it seems like the same thing to me."
Instead of answering, he lets out a loud sigh that almost makes her jump, and turns towards the window, bracing his body weight against the bars attached to it.
"It will get better, Rach," he says so quietly that she can barely hear him. "Everyone sets out to prove themself in New York so they act like assholes. Just give it time and remember that you're still better than them."
She's glad that he can't see her face, because she would not be able to hide the fact that his surprisingly on point declaration, not to mention the use of the nickname only he had ever really used, has temporarily robbed her of her bravado.
"I don't want to wait," she declares, her conviction evident. "I've just come from four years of having few friends, being slushied, egged, victimized by the cheerleaders, and basically treated like crap by every boy I've ever dated." She spits the last part out and feels somewhat victorious when he bows his head.
"New York was supposed to be the great escape. This is what I've strived for. And NYU, at least, has been more of the same. Not anymore. This is my city and my time, so I'm going to do what I need to do to make it mine."
She finishes with a flourish of her hands that feels frustratingly pathetic. She hadn't meant to bare her soul like that to him, but she's never shared her disappointment with anyone, and it feels good to get it out. Now that she has, she's struggling to get back to the perfectly written argument she has prepared in her head.
"I'm asking you to provide a service," Rachel explains, "You seem to be quite popular on campus, and it is quite serendipitous that you're here. I can actually make use of the considerable talent that I fell victim to. Think of it as an acting exercise."
She's only looking at his back, but she sees him flinch when she, unknowingly, echoes the words that had been his rationalization to himself for the pain he had caused her.
It feels even cheaper - -even less true - leaving her lips.
"If you don't want to accept my offer, then I'll be going." Despite her words, she makes no move towards the door.
Finally, thankfully, he turns around. "How can you afford $120 a week … on this?"
She takes mental note of the turn in the conversation. "I have discretionary funds thanks to my scholarship. I choose to think of it as an investment in my social and professional future." Her tone is no-nonsense, and she is glad when the line comes out exactly as she had imagined it in her head.
He bows his head again and nods to himself, and she thinks she can detect a small smile on his face.
She thinks he approves.
"And give me the general storyline."
She can't suppress her own smile when she hears this, but tries to distract him from it by tucking stray pieces of hair behind her ear. She had forgotten how much they thought alike, how often during their short relationship they had been on the same page …until the end.
She had been in love, and he obviously hadn't been.
She is slightly embarrassed, but lays out the story for him: a rekindling of their relationship through a phone call, a few well-thought out dates to remind themselves of the searing connection they had once shared, a few weeks of perfect romance, and an eventual breakup by the end of the semester, when her social standing would be in a better state.
(She doesn't mention that last bit.)
"I still have to figure out what causes our breakup," she explains somewhat meekly. "I dump you of course," she stresses, "But I'm not sure why yet."
"Of course," Jesse mirrors, using the same assured tone she had seconds before.
"So do we have a deal?" Rachel links her hands in front of her and squares her shoulders again, looking him in the face.
"No." He states it evenly, nonchalantly, as if she should have expected it. She hadn't.
Her cool, calm demeanor drops instantaneously, her arms reaching up to fold across her chest and her eyes narrowing to glare at him.
"You owe me," she challenges him. It was the one argument she had not wanted to use. Given the situation, she doesn't want to appear the least bit vulnerable to him. She seems to remember that he likes to play on that.
"The kind of heartbreak that girls like you hold for the rest of their lives, like Barbra in The Way We Were." He looks at her with a slight smirk and a raised eyebrow.
She's shocked that he remembers, because she herself has forgotten saying those words to him in that dark auditorium years ago. She recognizes them now and swallows, displaced again from her comfort zone.
"Exactly," she finally manages.
"One of the most dramatic and moving lines I'd heard in a long time," he almost whispers, "I'd be remiss to forget."
They're eyeing each other, and she gets the strong sense that somewhere along the way she lost control of the conversation. Somehow, they're on even footing.
He unexpectedly reaches up to stroke her cheek with his thumb, drawing her questioning gaze up to his.
He's obviously overstepping his bounds, but she is powerless to stop him as he continuously traces patterns on her face, the simplicity of the motion lulling her into complacence.
He leans down towards her and she finds herself meeting him halfway until their foreheads touch, like she's caught up in some trance. It's been a long time since she's done anything like this.
"What…" she eventually blurts out, the simple word the only thing she can produce.
"Just checking to make sure that we still have enough chemistry to wow our audience," Jesse states, completely unaffected, as he withdraws from the force field between them.
"Fine," he says, after a while.
"Really?" The surprise and relief in her voice leaks out before she has the good mind to stop it, but she's a little distracted by the earlier heat between them.
Passion and chemistry had never been their problem.
"I would be honored to work with you on your two person show, Ms. Berry." He does a little bow while he says it, and she honestly can't tell if he is mocking her or not.
If she's honest with herself, control and trust had been their issues. It seems ominously ironic that she's about to enter into a business relationship with him.
Regardless, they shake hands and it's a done deal.
II.
They agree to meet and hammer out the details the following afternoon at the Starbucks where he's working the evening shift.
He's at the counter entertaining two girls from his 18th Century English Lit class when she walks in.
He had told her to bring work with her because he never had anyway of predicting how busy the shop would be on any given Friday afternoon. Today is probably one of the last few warm days of the fall, which means that orders for frappucinos are up, but the coffee shop itself is virtually empty.
She's wearing a tank top and tiny shorts, her legs on full display. In one smooth motion, she moves her sunglasses from covering half her face to sit on top of her head, so that they hold her bangs back. She smiles at him and walks towards one of the quieter tables in the back with the comfy armchairs, usually a prime spot, but today it's hers for the taking.
Natalie, the blonde of the two girls, pokes him in the arm, "Earth to Jesse." The other girl, as luck would have it, also Jessie, follows his gaze across the room to Rachel before proclaiming, "She's not your type," with her nose scrunched in Rachel's direction.
But she is, he wants to correct her. She always has been.
Jesse had never been more thankful for the innate St. James charm than when he had showed up on the NYU campus, penniless with a whole horde of dreams. He had dreaded working at a Starbucks that many of his fellow students frequented, but girls were attracted to his talk of Broadway dreams, and his work ethic, which translated naturally from show choir. They visited the coffee shop regularly to see him and always left great tips, often with their phone numbers. Guys, too, seemed to be little concerned about his new economic status, and he and many of his friends had bonded over finding free food events and cheap beer in a way that he knew would not have been possible had he been the rich boy from Akron.
Over the last year, he's managed to scrape by, working just enough hours at Starbucks to feed and house himself while balancing his classes and theater. Despite the unmistakable downgrade in living conditions, he's happy here in New York, much happier than he had been in LA. Transferring to NYU without his parents' support and without the security of a scholarship that also included meals and housing had been hard, but completely worth it.
He had wondered how long it would be before he and Rachel crossed paths again, though he could have never imagined anything on the scale of last night. Leave it to Rachel Berry.
Starting back in September, he had looked for her on the quad, memorizing her dorm's address and keeping an eye out for her whenever he was in the area. Once, he had recognized her as she was boarding a bus, but she seemed distracted, not in the least bit concerned about someone openly staring at her from across the street.
He's grateful for the opportunity, now, to truly see her. She looks at ease, but he can tell that this is not the same Rachel Berry that he left back in Ohio with a victorious glance over his shoulder at Regionals. She's obviously jaded, like someone (or maybe more than one someone) had used her and thrown her away.
He doesn't need three guesses as to who that is.
Still, she looks beautiful, with her knees pulled up to her chest as she sits in the chair, reading the large textbook perched on her lap. Her skin is tan, and she's chewing on the end of her pink highlighter thoughtfully as she reads.
He reflects on their conversation last night and smiles when he realizes that technically he is looking at his girlfriend.
He's not thrilled that she's paying him to be with her, but he wasn't about to suggest what was really in his head: that they try this for real. Had he said that, he knows, she would have turned and walked out of his life forever.
At least this way, maybe he has a chance at convincing her by letting her think that she is in charge. He's an excellent actor, yes, but he's sure, given a playing field free of Ohio show choir rivalries, that he can be her excellent boyfriend.
He thinks he was well on his way of convincing her last night with his little 'audition.'
Her experiment might be the most fun thing he's done since he left Vocal Adrenaline. Having almost $500 more a month in savings won't hurt either.
He makes his way over to join her with an iced vanilla latte with soymilk, which used to be her favorite coffee drink back in high school.
She thanks him, and explains that even though she's give up veganism in favor of plain old vegetarianism, she still prefers soy milk in her coffee.
"That's on your list of notes," she adds, while digging in her bag.
He looks at her, confused, until she produces two black folders from her backpack and hands one to him. Last night, she had asked for his weekly schedule, mentioning that she would plan their dates around it. In true Rachel Berry style, the result is an army of color coded schedules and diagrams mapping out his schedule, hers, rehearsals for Romeo & Juliet, their dates, and accompanied by all sorts of lists detailing her favorite restaurants, t.v. shows and movies (all marked with 'CURRENT: October 2012'). There's even a daily schedule for the next two weeks, outlining all the times that she expects to receive text messages and emails.
She painstakingly explains to him the method to her madness, pointing out the different colors she used for the different things, and the ideas she'd sketched out for their dates. "I tried to be really cost efficient because of your financial situation. It was really challenging, but I think I managed to come up with some creative ideas."
He looks defeated for a minute, because he wishes that he could do what he used to do back in LA, when he impressed girls with $80 tickets to concerts on the first (and usually last) date. She picks up on his irritation, but misinterprets it, moving to rest her hand on his arm. "This is on me, remember? We just have to make it believable."
He didn't think it was possible, but she is making him feel even worse about this whole thing.
"Which reminds me," she starts, after an awkward hesitation, "I've got the money for your first week right here. But before that…"
She hands him what looks to be a contract. Of course, he thinks, typical lawyer's child.
As he flips through the pages, he can see that it outlines a lot of the things they have already discussed: ten hours a week, $120, an obligation not to see anyone else, and duties to call, text, and appear with her in public. Somewhere near the end, before her perfect signature, she reserves the right to call off the arrangement at any time.
She nervously watches him read, and doesn't say anything until he looks back up at her.
"You have to sign both copies. And I don't have to tell you what would happen if this document were to fall into the wrong hands."
He nods, and, without further hesitation, signs his name where the little Sign Here sticker tells him to, then reaches for her copy and does the same.
They both sit in silence for a minute until a bunch of people, obviously coming from some soccer game, start lining up to place their orders. Another barista, Joe, is already at the register, but he needs to go help out.
They both stand at the same time, and she slings her bag back over her shoulders.
"So I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she says quietly, playing with the end of her ponytail, "Brunch at noon in the dorm cafeteria."
"I'll be there," he confirms.
His eyes glance back towards the line at the register and she takes it as her cue to leave, turning towards the door.
He refocuses, and remembers that this is the role of his lifetime.
"Rach," he calls to her, grabbing her hand before she moves, and planting a kiss on her cheek, in response to which multiple people in the line go aaww, "I can't wait for our first date tomorrow."
I am truly blown away by the reaction to this story! Thank you all for your kind reviews. I hope this lives up to your expectations! I am aiming to have a chapter out each week.
And, let me know if you have (affordable) date suggestions. I have a couple planned, but I would love to incorporate some of your ideas.